Goodness Over Beauty
by TheOwlMoth
Summary: (Modern school AU). When Anatole, a renowned student in Moscow High School, has a bad day and admits to not being so good in school, he meets Sonya, practical and down to earth, to help tutor him. Anatole is usually only attracted to girls for their appearances, but he begins to fall for Sonya-and it isn't because of her looks.
1. Chapter 1

**. . . **

**Yeah. Here I am writing a story about a ship that doesn't exist for a musical that hardly anyone knows about. Seriously, there are barely ANY stories under this category on FanFiction, and it makes me upsetti-spaghetti. And nobody's gonna read this, why am I publishing it again? **

**The reason I ship Anatole and Sonya is because I feel that Sonya could teach Anatole about loyalty and love beyond sensual matters, and Anatole could help Sonya be "bold and confident." I wanted to write something that makes Anatole redeem himself as something more than a scoundrel who will go after women who appease his lecherous desires. Plus, I really like ships that involve a socially renowned, usually physically attractive male and a shy, moral female. (Sorry, people, Anatole x Dolokhov is not gonna happen.) **

**Also, I hate to make this author's note so long, but can we just talk about how amazing Sonya is? She's my favorite character in TGC because she's practical and down to earth, yet kind and knows her morals. I love Sonya, she should have been a character in Romeo and Juliet. **

**Anyway, here is Goodness Over Beauty. Sheesh, Natasha really needs that message, doesn't she? **

**Chapter One **

"And when it comes to the _nous _pronoun, the suffix _-ons _will be placed at the end of any regular verb . . ."

Anatole slammed his head on his desk in the center of the French classroom, his slick blond hair dropping over his face like a wilting gold flower. The way the teacher spoke, his mannerisms, or rather a lack thereof, just seemed to make the class drag on for more than ninety minutes. Anatole was not one of those who could sit down, be quiet, and listen to a lethargic teacher lecture a mass of students for a while. He was quite decent at the language, besides conjugation for irregular verbs and remembering the French translation for some English terms, but learning it felt like being frozen in time.

As he looked around, he could see he was not alone in his apathy. Several other students were tapping their pencils on the desk, doodling, or sleeping in the back of the classroom. He might as well have worshiped those who could actually pay attention, because not even a statue could sit still for this long without groaning in boredom.

The teacher eventually moved on to the French pronoun _vous_, torpidly explaining that it was used as both a formal term and as a plural subject. Anatole tried to keep up with the old man's rapid writing with sloppy, slanted notes on ink-smudged paper, but to no avail. He would much rather have been gossiping and eating snacks with his peers at the back of the classroom, or flirting with girls who caught his eye. But Mr. Bolkonsky was so obsessed with silence and perfect behavior that even a cough could get you sent to detention if the practically deaf old man mistook it for a backhanded whisper.

Anatole decided it was better for him to catch up on sleep rather than be bored to death in a class he only needed to charm women in his twenties. So, he lied down, and promptly fell asleep in the midst of zoned-out students.

When the bell rang to end second period, Anatole already felt defeated, ready to collapse in his bed and rest. And the fact that his third period was P.E. only made it worse. Normally, he felt prepared and competent in the gym, since he was relatively adept at exercising and sports, but today, he entered with the bitter claim that he "should not have stayed up all night chugging energy drinks and playing video games." Well, at least his sister Hélène and his friend Dolokhov were in his class, the only motivation that brought him to stride through the hallways without falling asleep.

"Dear brother, it seems something is troubling you," Hélène cooed as Anatole entered the gym, where she had been waiting. She had deep, beautiful tanned skin in contrast to her brother's fair skin, emerald eyes, and typically had a lecherous smile or glare. Hélène was a bit notorious among her grade for wearing skimpy clothes and getting with guys and breaking up with them about two weeks later, and repeating the process.

"Sister, leave me be," Anatole said calmly, crouching on the floor and tugging a T-shirt and black shorts out of his backpack. For a moment, he looked like a dying rose, his head beginning to drape over his torso with exhaustion.

Hélène sighed, yanking her brother up off the floor. "Must be that French class of yours. Anatole. Everyone despises that Mr. Bolkonksy, he's like a man who's just emerged from an asylum."

"_I stayed up all night playing games," _Anatole abruptly admitted, his shoulders rolling back.

"Explains a lot." Hélène took Anatole's hand and guided him to a door near the end of the black bleachers in the gym. "Go get dressed, you know the gym coaches are strict about dressing out."

Anatole drew in a breath of reluctance and shuffled into the boys' locker room, where it smelled heavily of cologne and sweat. He often thought of himself as more refined than the other boys in his gym class, since most of them engaged in play battles using stolen materials from the janitors' closet as weapons and tossed their smelly clothes wherever. Lockers were slammed roughly to the point of almost breaking upon impact, and the cologne made it nearly impossible to breathe. Anatole quickly changed before he was pulled into a battle, which his friend Dolokhov often participated in. Indeed, Dolokhov was having fun at the front of the locker room, winning duels against other boys.

As Anatole walked out, though, Dolokhov sprinted after him just before the door could close. "Anatole, hi!"

The former turned, a bit startled. "Oh, hello, Dolokhov." He smiled a bit at Dolokhov's outwardly optimistic, confident demeanor. "Um . . . Ça a été une dure journée. . . ."

"I'm not in French class, Anatole," Dolokhov reminded his friend, frowning.

"N-never mind." The two boys proceeded to their assigned places on the gym floor, where boys' sneakers skidded across in high, shrill noises, and girls in terribly revealing shorts congregated. They had the extreme luck of being placed next to each other when the coaches had assigned them spots on the first day of school.

Soon, a lanky woman with a whistle around her neck and sunglasses shielding her eyes stepped up in front of the students, who seemed to be raging at this point, and blew a boisterous toot with the whistle. The gym students promptly scrambled to their places, some with pale faces.

"_WEDNESDAY MORNING, TIME FOR CARDIO!" _she boomed rapturously, throwing her hands above her. "TO THE OUTER LINES OF THE GYM, CHOP CHOP!"

"I think Miss Dmitryevna is absolutely _nuts_," Dolokhov subtly chuckled, leaning in towards Anatole as they walked to the edge of the gym.

The coach was known as Miss Marya Dmitryevna among students and renowned for being the most strict of the coaches. She often shouted her words, clapped when she was growing impatient, and pressed difficult cardio on children, especially Juniors and Seniors. When it was her turn to coach on Wednesdays, students braced themselves for the most gruesome of torture.

"Ras . . . Dva . . . _Tri!" _

From there, Marya constantly shifted from one speed to the next. It would go from jogging to walking, sprinting to running, walking to skipping, and so on. Every three minutes of it, the students had to do ten "walking lunges" and rest with a slow, relaxed walk for a minute and a half, then resume cardio. By fifteen minutes in, everyone was drained of energy, and some were so tired they almost fainted. Students flocked to the water fountains in the hallways in massive numbers as soon as the last whistle was blown.

"That was . . . _insufferable_," Dolokhov panted, dragging himself to the water fountain with Anatole. "I think I'm going to puke."

Anatole shook his head, looking disturbed, then bolted ahead at him with more energy than he had in cardio, startling a herd of thirsty kids. He thrust his hands at the water fountain button, and gulped down cold water for a solid minute. The others protested, urging him to move his rear end to the back of the line, while Dolokhov stared in concern.

"Anat—?"

The boy was pale, a rare thing for Dolokhov to have seen. Anatole usually seemed sensible and simple, bold and natural from afar. But now, he looked desperate for any form of sustenance, for rest, like a wolf who'd been walking around starving for days.

"I need a moment—" Anatole darted down the empty hall in a cold sweat, past quiet classrooms, his sneakers skidding in an ear-piercing echo.

"Wait!" Dolokhov shot after his friend like a whizzing bullet, inches away from colliding with a few passing girls with water bottles.

Anatole slid to a haly beside a door and jerked it open to reveal the boys' bathroom, lined with sickening urinals and stalls with vulgar black writing. He slammed his back against it to prevent anyone else from seeing him in this state. In the depth of the unsanitary, dusty bathroom mirror, he had the chance to take a slow breath for once, to get a good view of how he appeared. Dark bags lie beneath his once bright eyes, and his cheeks were deficient of any color. Anatole turned, hands clasped to his face, as he sank to his knees.

"One more day and I think I'm going to go insane."

He moved his hands from his eyes, fingers curled like a paralyzed spider. _Today is absolutely not my day, _he thought, quivering.

Anatole was expecting just a brief moment of alone time, but out of the blue, the boys' bathroom door burst open; Dolokhov slid down on the tiles beside Anatole, gasping. "Anatole! What happened back there?"

"I think it is not convenient to speak of it now," moaned Anatole.

"No, no, none of that, talk."

"Fine. Dol, I need _help," _Anatole confided, grasping his friend's shoulders promptly. "School's becoming a nightmare." He closed his eyes, sighing. "Okay, Dolokhov. . . . Admittedly, I am not good at everything in school. I think I'm failing most of my classes."

"What? Why so?" asked Dolokhov. "And why did you run away from gym class like a slacker, stop running away from your problems, man."

"I have quite the trouble listening." Anatole blinked twice and frowned. "It is my belief that I need a tutor, because I doubt any teacher is willing to review topics I've struggled with for long."

"Hmm." Dolohov tapped his chin with an empathetic grin. "I know someone who can help. She's very good at . . . well, pretty much every subject."

"Who is it? A _girl?_" Anatole pressed desperately. "Do tell."

"Alright, so you know that girl, Natasha Rostova?"

"Oh, her? Everyone knows her, she's that . . . that charming girl dating Mr. Bolkonsky's pessimistic son."

"Exactly, _that _Natasha," Dolokhov lit up, nodding. "Well, she's got a cousin, an acquaintance of mine."

"Natasha has a _cousin? _Who would have guessed," Anatole shrugged.

"Yes. And her name . . ."

Dolokhov sniffed.

"Her name is Sonya."

**Okay, yes, I did put several references to lines in the musical, but I can't help it. It was so hard to resist doing so! With future chapters, I really want to experiment with how Sonya would react to Anatole's behavior, especially his tendency to go after girls who appeal to him. **

**But in the next chapter in particular, I'm planning to have Anatole meet Sonya. All we can really do is guess how their interactions would turn out. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, yes, another misadventure of Anatole forgetting that he likes Natasha. I took a long break from writing this, mostly because I began to think, "Hmm, this seems like literally every Wattpad AU ever." But then I realized that bringing a ship to a familiar situation could probably make the two more relatable and understandable, which is why so many people choose to write school AUs. Plus, I think doing a school AU is okay as long as there's actually a real reason for it to be a school AU in particular. **

**Also, I don't like to view this as a good girl x bad boy scenario, I see it as more of a reasonable, reserved girl x extroverted, mischievous boy. Sort of like Tiana and Naveen from Disney's The Princess and the Frog. They sort of balance each other out. So I guess not like every Wattpad AU..? **

**(Countess, please don't be mad at me for taking so long, I stopped focusing on this and I don't know why. ;-;) **

**Okay, enough of that. **

Anatole looked at Dolokhov in utter astonishment.

"S-Sonya? Sonya Rostova?"

Dolokhov nodded. "Yeah. Rumor has it that she's a really good student to cheat off of in quizzes, and that _she _has never cheated a day in her life. Good enough, eh?"

"Dolokhov, I don't think she even _likes _me," Anatole said negatively. "She does not speak to me as others do."

"Well, she keeps to herself most of the time. Only really talks to Natasha, and Miss Dmytrievna, for whatever reason. Think she talks to Mary Bolkonsky, too." Dolokhov side glanced at his hand, which was flat on the floor, grinning. "Perhaps if you get her to like you, she'll help you. Also, what makes you think she doesn't like you just because she doesn't talk to you? From what I have seen, she's a bit . . . reserved."

Anatole sighed. "It's not that. She's looked at me before. She gives me a blank stare, and sweeps past me when I try to talk to her."

"Anatole, women love friendly and approachable men. Appear approachable (to her standards), be friendly, and just maybe—"

The blond tapped his chin with a considerate smirk. Maybe what Dolokhov was saying could work if he did everything right. Look approachable, be Sonya's friend, and boom, a nice school year with extra help. How could it fail? It had never failed him with charming girls in the past.

"You're right. You're _right. _I must display a sensible exterior, bold, agreeable!" Anatole smiled confidently, shooting up from the dirty bathroom tile. "Back to class, we go."

"Um, Anatole," Dololhov frowned, clasping his friend's arm, "class is over in fifteen minutes. We should probably wait it out."

"Eh, fine."

"Sonya, have you seen my belly-length necklace?"

Natasha scrambled through a small bag for her item of interest by the girls' bathroom sink, her neat hair bun beginning to frizz. "I can't find it."

"You left it in the smallest pocket of your backpack, Natasha," came a lower, subdued voice from inside a stall.

"Oh, right. Guess I'll have to pick that up soon." Natasha took a mascara brush and swept it over her long eyelashes. Her lips were plump and well-shaped, much like her effeminate torso and broad shoulders. She had beautiful dark skin, and what most called a "most charming smile." Natasha was quite proud of her smile and the fact that she successfully charmed most, it was practically a gift to her. "I should keep track of where I leave things . . ."

A loud, crashing sound of water like ocean waves resounded from the stall, and the door swung open, Sonya stepping out. Unlike Natasha, Sonya had a humbler exterior, a simple white sweater over black leggings. Despite being older, Sonya was a little shorter than Natasha and behaved sheepishly sometimes.

"Natasha, ready for English—"

"_WAIT_! I haven't applied my blush yet."

Sonya chuckled silently and leaned against the white wall beside the door. Natasha came prancing after a minute later, and they assimilated into a bustling crowd in the hallway. Each day, they found it hard to keep up with each other, since Sonya was always in a rush to get to class, and Natasha was easily distracted by her friends huddling in groups by the lockers.

Thankfully, today wasn't as difficult, and they got to class relatively quickly. The girls settled in their seats and prepared for an egregiously boring lesson. Not to their surprise, the lesson _was _boring, to the point where almost everyone in the class thought watching paint dry would be more fun and productive than being in the English classroom. Even Sonya was yawning a little bit, though she managed to pay attention.

Natasha didn't look good after emerging from the class door like a braindead zombie. She was exponentially more bored than Sonya, especially since she was considered to have a shorter attention span.

"Sonya, do you understand what that was about?" Natasha asked, scratching the back of her head.

"We were analyzing a persuasive essay, Natasha," Sonya chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her cousin's confusion.

"Ah. Yes. That."

The two girls had to go down a level in order to reach their final classes of the day, which they had separately. Sonya had French, and Natasha had Biology. They parted ways and went on their ways to their respective classes.

But before Sonya could reach the hall of her fifth period . . .

"Sonya."

She turned.

"Oh, hello, Dolokhov," Sonya greeted with a polite smile. She adjusted the collar of her sweater, but her smile instantly subsided into a straight face. "And . . . Anatole."

Anatole peered out from behind Dolokhov and grinned nervously at Sonya, waving.

"Anatole, aren't you going to ask?" Dolokhov frowned, turning to his friend. In turn, Anatole seemed to shrink away.

Dolokhov sighed. "Sonya, I know you might have some . . . issues with Anatole, but he would like to politely ask if you could tutor him in French."

"Tutor him?" Sonya suddenly became uncomfortable with the idea that she was basically being asked to spend a lot of time with Anatole, a prominent trouble-maker, trying to teach him. She'd had him in her French 2 class the previous year, in their sophomore year, and she knew how much he hated paying attention, or at least, how much he _didn't. _

"Yes," Anatole said suddenly, standing straight. "I have tried my best to pay full attention to Mr. Bolkonsky's lessons, but I seem to learn nothing."

Well, Sonya was never one to be rude. She couldn't just turn him down, no matter how skeptical she was about this.

She sighed, closing her eyes briefly, before answering, "I will tutor you. But I have a couple conditions."

"Anything you wish," Anatole responded with a smirk.

"I will tutor you at most twice a week. Seems suitable enough for me, and would seem like a flexible schedule for anyone. I only have time for hour-long tutor sessions each day, since I'm not sure my godmother will be too happy seeing me with a boy. And, the biggest condition . . ."

"_Yes?" _

"_You have to pay full attention at all times." _

Anatole blushed for a second, then looked back to Sonya and nodded. "Of course."

"Are you _sure _you can follow through with these conditions?" Sonya pressed.

"Yes, I can," sighed Anatole."

"Good. Any particular days you'd like to be tutored on?"

"Hmm . . . Monday and Thursday."

"Alright. We'll begin next week."

Without warning, Anatole reached out for Sonya's hand.

"Huh?" Sonya tried pulling her hand away, but Anatole instead grabbed it and shook it.

"_Thank you so much,_" he beamed, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Um . . . you're welcome, I suppose." Sonya retracted her hand and she grinned mildly. "After school on Monday, we can meet in the commons and discuss where to hold tutoring sessions."

Anatole nodded in agreement. He was enthusiastic to be working with one of the most well-mannered, intelligent girls in his grade, but Sonya, on the other hand, was unsure if she wanted to spend so much time around him.


End file.
